Altering The Legend's Fate

Havi's gaze remained fixed upon Grandfather Har, or as the locals fondly referred to him, Grandfather Mardi. For a fleeting moment, his mind wandered back to his former life, a life filled with echoes of a distant past.

In that bygone world, Grandfather Har was nothing short of a legend. His passing did not diminish his fame.

Instead, it elevated him to near-mythical status. His artisanal creations, crafted with unmatched precision and artistry, were coveted treasures sold for staggering sums.

Grandfather Har's craftsmanship was so extraordinary that his reputation transcended borders, earning him admiration across continents. Even the humblest of his works-a small, unassuming wooden ornament was valued at no less than a billion. Yes, a billion.

One could scarcely fathom the worth of his grander creations. Each piece, regardless of its form, brought profound delight to those fortunate enough to possess it, leaving them utterly enchanted by the legacy of his genius.

And was Grandfather Har, in Havi's first life, a man of great wealth? The answer was a resounding no. His name only began to ascend into prominence fourteen years after his death, when the world at last recognised the brilliance of his work.

The true beneficiary of his genius, ironically, was not Grandfather Har himself, but a mere scrap collector.

By sheer happenstance, this man stumbled upon the late craftsman's pieces, oblivious to their origin or value. Yet, through this stroke of fortune, he found himself catapulted to sudden riches.

The tragedy of Grandfather Har's story deepens further. His death passed without notice, even by his own family. For reasons shrouded in secrecy, he had deliberately withdrawn from his children and relatives.

Whispers among those who knew him spoke of estrangement. Some claimed that his family, his children and even his wife, had abandoned him, dismissing him as a man of little worth due to his meagre possessions.

It was a bitter irony, for the very family that cast him aside had long depended on his tireless efforts as a carpenter.

Every meal they had eaten, every roof over their heads, had been earned by his hands. Hands that would one day be celebrated for producing masterpieces.

Yet, none of his sons showed the slightest inclination to follow his path. Not one among them had the courage to embrace woodworking, to inherit the craft he had perfected through years of toil.

Perhaps it was this rejection that drove Grandfather Har into solitude, surrendering his dreams to the unkindness of his fate.

And when death finally claimed him, it did so in silence. Not a soul mourned. Even when the news reached his children, it stirred no grief in their hearts.

To them, it was merely the natural order-life would always yield to death, as surely as day yields to night.

Yet, when his works began to sell for exorbitant prices across the globe, how shameless his children and extended family proved to be.

They brazenly declared themselves the rightful heirs of his creations, their sole justification being their blood ties to the late craftsman.

The controversy soon became a sensation, dominating social media headlines in Havi's previous life.

'Ungrateful and disloyal children," the news outlets and public scornfully labelled them. The hypocrisy of their sudden interest in their father's legacy only deepened the disdain of onlookers.

The rise of Grandfather Har's fame, fourteen years posthumously, also sparked widespread speculation and debate about the circumstances of his death.

While rumours abounded, the most credible account came from the scrap collector himself.

According to his testimony, Grandfather Har was discovered lifeless, seated on the ground beside a pile of teak logs. His frail body, weary and worn, appeared to have succumbed to exhaustion.

The collector further revealed that, in the days leading up to his death, the old man had repeatedly complained of feeling increasingly tired—a fatigue that seemed to overwhelm his already fragile state.

Back in the present, Havi, who had been lost in thought for what felt like an eternity, suddenly shouted, "The Legend!".

His abrupt outburst startled the old man, who responded by striking Havi lightly on the head.

With a tone of exasperation and irritation, the old man, Grandfather Har, snapped, "You've frightened me half to death! Legend? What nonsense are you going on about, boy? You're talking absolute rubbish!"

Then, shaking his head, he continued, "Young people these days so peculiar! Hearing my name and acting as though you've seen a ghost. Well, are you going to help me or not? Those logs won't move themselves!"

"I'm sorry, Grandfather! Truly, I'm sorry!" Havi replied with a sheepish grin before heading outside to deal with the heavy logs.

As he bent down to lift the first log, a chilling realisation struck him, freezing him in his tracks. Memories from his past life and the present collided with startling clarity.

'Wait a moment! In my previous life, the reports said Grandfather Har died from exhaustion while moving teak logs. But today, I'm here, helping him… Does this mean I've… I've Altered The Legend's Fate?!'

It was as though a great stone had suddenly fallen upon Havi's chest, pressing the air from his lungs.

If it were true that he had altered the fate of the legend, then what would become of Grandfather Har's destiny now?

Was this truly part of a greater plan—a divine design unfolding before him? Had God, in some mysterious way, guided Havi to assist this frail old man, a man he had only just met, in his final moments?

Questions swirled in his mind, each one heavier than the last. The weight of his thoughts bore down on him, filling him with a mix of awe and trepidation.

The possibility that he had somehow changed the course of history-of a life that had, until now, seemed written in stone was both humbling and terrifying.

What consequences would follow? Had he unwittingly become part of some cosmic puzzle, a piece that had been moved into place by forces far beyond his understanding?

The notion that he might be an instrument of fate, that the old man before him might be the centre of some grand design, was overwhelming.

Yet, in that very moment, a quiet certainty began to settle in his heart. Perhaps it was not for him to know the answers just yet.

Perhaps the true purpose of his actions would reveal itself in time. Until then, all he could do was help, to continue offering his assistance and trust that the path ahead, however uncertain, was the one he was meant to follow.

For now, Havi could only lift the teak logs, one by one, and wonder what role he would play in the unfolding story of the man who had once been a legend.

And, more importantly, whether the changes he had set in motion would lead to something even greater than the fate he had hoped to alter.

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